Altair's Fortune
by Shadow Master Talon
Summary: Altair's luck! Altair has a rather stange encounter that turns his life upside down after meeting an odd girl in the market of Acre...
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER!! I do NOT own any part of Assassin's Creed or Altaïr or any other random referances that may come up those belong to Ubisoft and their respective owners.

Altaïr is having well, let's just say he's being Altaïr when he meets a strange girl and recives a proposition he's not expecting.

Also I have no idea what I'm doing with this it's my first fanfic so I'd love some feedback after you folks read the first chapter to let me know what you think. I'm game to hear pretty much anything and would love to know how you think this comes out! Thank you for reading!

**Altaïr's Fortune**

The man walked quietly and slowly though the street his head bent in thought. To a casual observer he would look like a monk lost in prayer. Look like being the operative statement in that sentence. His mind was racing even as his feet trend softly towards the marketplace. Today was starting to show the first of the coming season. A chill breeze carried the promise of a wintry storm moving slowly towards Acre. As the breeze picked up it's pace it seemed the market was unaffected by the cold air. Merchants stood about hawking their wares to any who would look. Women shifted though the crowd balancing pots of water or other assorted things upon their heads with relative ease. People milled about, some to look at goods, some to gossip, and still others passing though. All told it was a bustling day in the main marketplace of Acre. Not that the robed man lost in thought seemed to care. He seemed to dance and weave around the crowd, his feet moving of their own accord. Of course he didn't warrant taking a second glance at either, and so slid though the hub of activity without much notice...

A young woman, no more then seventeen seasons to her name balanced her own pot of water on her head as she glanced though the crowd. Watching, waiting, for someone or something to move into her vision. She shifted the weight of her pot again, the thing was heavy. Filled almost to the brim with cold water she wasn't fond of having to hold the thing, but she quietly bore her burden as she waited. The wind picked up into a small turret of cold air seemingly from nowhere and everywhere at once. People pulled their scarves and coats a bit tighter. Most were wearing heavy cotton or wool to ward against the chill bite the air carried. One who didn't was the one the woman sought. She reviewed his image in her mind as he weaved slowly though the crowd almost like an unseen ghost or angel. He wore a light robe hardly antique for the wind let alone the storm it was heralding. It seemed a gray under armor was laced throughout the robes. A pair of heavy leather gloves covered his hands and extended up his forearms. The fingers themselves were uncovered. Around his middle a leather waist guard was wrapped tightly, a slight red sash hung in clear view in front of his waist. The man paused, pulled his hood tighter and then continued on his way.

Slowly he made his way closer and closer to the woman's position. She waited until he was no more then five feet away, but before she could act a merchant behind her pushed past her and she lost her balance falling forward toward the robed man. The next thing she new she was on her hands and knees in a cold pool of water. She glanced up to see a very wet and cold angel looking at her from beneath his drenched hood. She hesitated a moment longer and leapt to her feet exclaiming,

"Oh no, I'm so sorry I wasn't paying attention! Are you hurt?" He shook his head and shivered as he turned to leave. She nearly tripped herself again as she lunged after him, "Here sir come with me and I'll get you dried off and warm. Do you live near here?" He shook his head again. "Come on then" she rapidly picked up the pot and started dragging him along. Altaïr was more surprised then anything else when the young woman managed to spill her pot of water on him. He was more puzzled by the fact that he was actually letting her lead him off somewhere. He wasn't on assignment for once and had no where to be, besides he was already freezing. He decided he might as well see what would happen.Less then fifteen minutes later they were in the more shady side of town. Another ten after that the woman turned down a side ally, a key appeared in her hand and she gently pushed the door of a smal house hidden in the shadows open. She gestured for him to follow her as she slipped into the house. It was small and simply. A table with two chairs occupied a corner of the room. A firepit was taking over most of the north wall, assorted cooking ingrediants and small decorations stood in shelves flanking the firepit. Another door was oppositre the one Altaïr entered though.A single window that was closed against the window was sitting next to the entryway. Silently Altaïr closed the door behind him as the woman busied herself with lighting the fire pit. She got it going then turned and looked at him for a moment her gaze actually going over his form with greater notice this time around. She nodded to herself then disappered into the other room, a few moments later she came out holding a heavy blanket which she tossed over Altaïrs shoulders. She pulled a chair close to the fire, now glowing merrily and told him to sit down. After a moments hesitation Altaïr did what he was told. He had been trying not to think of how cold he really was. The water had stopped dripping off him several minutes ago but the wetness of his clothing made it cling to him uncomfortably, he was also acutely aware of parts of his body being numb from the cold. The fire did it's fair share to warm him and he didn't mind the blanket either. Outside the wind picked up to a howl. The young girl pulled the other chair near the fire as well then started speaking softly,

"I am Chloe. Sorry about earlier I hope this will make up for it."

"It's not a problem I wasn't going anywhere anyway."

"Oh that's good, I was wondering if I was keeping you from a rendezous. You seemed pretty lost in thought to me." She giggled slightly and he turned and glanced at her again.

"I was not. My name is Altaïr."

"Altaïr? That's a nice name." He fell silent unsure of what to say in response. He simply turned his attention back to the fire. "There's something I want to ask you Altaïr."

"Hm?"

"Um... Would you, um, would you teach me the art of making love?" Altaïr's jaw almost dropped and the nature of the question took him by complete surprise. So did the attack from behind him. The sudden movement made him start and he collasped to the ground when the blunt hilt of a dagger stuck the back of his neck. Altaïr's world faded into shades of black dancing flames as he slipped into the shadow of unconsisness...


	2. Chapter 2

Ataïr awoke in a cell. At a glance it was dark and dank. Natural rock made up the majority of the cell with worked stone making up the hallway leading past it in one direction. Altaïr's back was wet from the wall he was chained to and his shoulders hurt horribly. Glancing over to his numb wrists he saw the short manacles attached to the wall above his head. His weight had been hanging off just those manacles for a while, no wonder his shoulders hurt. He twisted his hand enough to grip the chains of the manacles and pull himself into a standing position. The relief of his own dead weight from his shoulders felt stiff as his legs took to holding him up against the wall. But at least it was much more comfortable. He sent his attention to the bars of the cell. About 6'' apart and put together with good solid bars. The lock however was old and looked like it would break with the right force. Altaïr nodded to himself then turned his attention back to the manacles preventing him from moving. His plan to escape was half formed when he heard someone coming down the hall. He hesitated then let his eyes close and his body go limp.

There was a click as the door opened, a loud creaking, and the footfalls of many people coming into the cell. Altaïr continued to pretend to be out cold. A woman spoke softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "Wake him up."

SLAP

Altaïr's head reeled for a moment and his eyes shot open shooting daggers at the people in the room. Four guards stood in the small cell, two more where outside it. Two women stood before him. One who had slapped him was a lithe creature, she had soft brown curls and hard dark eyes. She was in black leather armor and wore a scimitar at her hip with practiced ease, this was the woman called Chloe. The other woman, the one who spoke was built like a dancer. Strains of long silvered hair fell gracefully around her form to nearly the ground. She too wore a blade belted comfortably at her hip though she was in a simple crimson dress. She spoke in a soft sweet whisper reminiscent of a willow's leaves in a gentle breeze. Her eyes, captured Altaïr's as she leaned in to speak with him,

"Assassin? Please pardon our rather rude welcome. I would like to ask you a few questions." Altaïr remained silent, his eyes showing silent fury and indignation. "It seems we've given you no reason to trust us so how bout I give you one then we can maybe talk. Hm? She leaned close enough to whisper into his ear her body pressing into his as she stood on her toes making Altaïr acutely aware of the curves of her form. She whispered again, "I intend to destroy your order and your stronghold, however to do that I need the help of one of their highest ranking assassin's to gain knowledge of my enemy. I will give you the world once I have claimed it and united it." Altaïr whispered his response in tones of venom,

"I have no intention of aiding you."

"Then at least tell me your name," For some reason Altaïr could not contain his voice,

"Altaïr Ibn La-Ahad"

"The flying one, sone of none? A strange name, but not stranger then the one who bears it. I will let you stay here awhile Altaïr to allow you to think a bit more about my offer." She gently brushed her lips across his and smiled as his body shuddered. "Good bye for now, I'll send for you tomorrow night." The woman and her entourage left. Chloe was the last the leave the room, she shifted back towards Altaïr and said,

"You have been given a great choice assassin choose wisely. Be it death by my blade, or death by my sister." Altaïr sighed then closed his eyes as he started working on the damned manacles keeping his hands in place.

_Ok so here's chapter 2 hope you like it! I'm still not sure where I'm gonna take this story so please send me some reviews so I know what you think and maybe give me some ideas. Also sorry about chapter length I know it's kinda short but please no kill me._

_- Shadow Master Talon_


	3. Chapter 3

He tugged quietly on the chains of the manacles, testing them. Finding weaknesses in the chain, the brace, the wall. Searching calmly, quietly. Twisting them this way and that, methodically surveying how he could see about retaining his freedom from this dungeon. He reached his right hand out, spreading his fingers wide and allowing them to stretch. Satisfied he curled his middle and index finger around the base of his thumb. He dislocated his thumb so it looked like it was based in the center of his hand. He smiled slightly as he pulled his hand out of the now to large manacle with no difficulty. Sighing he pushed the dislocated digit back to it's original position with a slight grimace. Turning his attention to the left manacle he stretched his four fingers into a straight line and then cupped the tips together, his pinky curved in farther then it normally would have had he still had his ring finger. His hand slid out with only a minor cut for his efforts. Altaïr was freed from the cold iron of his former bonds. He turned his attention to the door's old lock.

The thing most likely had not been used in a decade; it was an old style lock that was not well maintained. This likely meant that the owners of this... place had not had company down here in some time. Altaïr slipped a hand into his boot and pulled out a set of basic lock picks, he hadn't used the things in ages but still he kept them just in case. Gently inserting the picks into the lock and working them in a descending pattern he heard a satisfying click as the lock popped and he returned the picks to their place. He quielty slipped into the corridor; it extended some 100 feet before cutting a sharp right angle. Altaïr glanced down the hallway, it was long and wide, there was a door every 20 feet or so. Listening intently he heard voices behind the nearest set of doors,

"Her ladyship wishes the assassin to cooperate. We're supposed to keep a constant guard on him but I don't think that's necessary. No one's managed to escape from this place yet, don't see why she thinks he would." Another voice joined in,

"Will you stop your prattling I've got a game of dice to win." The sound of dice being rolled was the next thing Altaïr heard, followed shortly by some small cheers and a few grumbles. Altaïr began listening intently for sounds that might betray his presence. Hearing nothing he turned to continue down the hall. The farther down the corridor he crept the more he heard the sounds of sleeping. Rancorous snoring from one room, nothing from some of the others; a gentle moan of pleasure here or there, lovers apparently not wanting to wake those around them by the sounds of it. He shrugged and continued on along the winding hall. Before too long had past he heard the sound of booted feet tramping from farther up the corridor, there was no alcove to disappear into, only a medley of doors. Altaïr went for the nearest door with no sound coming from behind it and slipped in, a shadow among shadows. Again gently closing the door Altaïr turned around to see where he was.

A bedroom by all appearances, a large bed occupied much of the room, soft linen curtains hiding what lie within it. A small bureau hugged the wall, next to it a shelf wearing its share of books and scrolls. Beside that was a stack of gear piled neatly in a corner, his gear. Without a moment's hesitation he fetched the blades and armor, donning his attire and feeling the comforting weight of the blade in his gauntlet. He paused his equipping long enough to admire the cold steel. He turned the blade over, admiring the slight etchings of past battles, the gently curve of the sharpened edge. The tip was razor sharp and had many kills to its name. Altaïr glanced at the door then quickly finished reequipping himself. A slight movement drew Altaïr's eyes, his head snapped back towards the bed and he leaned in closer to see if he'd been detected. A woman moaned slightly in her sleep and rolled over, facing him.

His heart skipped a beat; it was the same woman as before. Her silver hair laying about her figure delicately in soft rivers flowing about her form. Before he could leave the room he stepped on a discarded piece of fabric and heard the broach within it shatter from his weight. He half cursed as her eyes snapped open and she started to spin for her blade laying in easy reach on the bedside table, leaping forward Altaïr caught her wrists as she started to reach for her sword. Her mouth opened and he pressed his fully against it to keep her from screaming. She was already ready to kill him, to hell with keeping him alive. Her eyes glared at him in cold fury, flashing dangerously.

If looks could kill Altaïr would have fallen to the ground dead.

She had been having a rather pleasant dream when she was awaken rather rudely and by the last person she was expecting. The assassin stood over her when she opened her eyes she had opened her mouth to scream. The Bastard had grabbed her wrists as she'd reached for the blade at her side and prevented her from screaming by forcing his tounge into her mouth. She felt his hips land hard on top of hers and she couldn't contain a sudder. Her face flushed red with embarrassment and her body went stiff with a murderous rage that could only be directed at him.

Altaïr had lept up onto the bed to reach her quickly, of course he had also landed on her to keep the volitile woman from kicking at him. Both his hands had reached out to grasp her wrists and hold them poised above her head before she could pick something up to kill him with. His legs stradled her hips as he knelt above her holding her down with the weight of his body, and jamming his mouth against hers since that was about all he could do to silence her without killing her, seeing as she apparently had all the answers the assassin needed. She seemed suddenly far more docile and he realized why within a few seconds.

The only thing between their two bodies were his white robes.

_Ok so I hope this one kinda makes up for Chp. 2 not being up to snuff. But at least now I know where I'm going to take this story. Also please review and let me know what parts could use some fixing or ya'll think could be better. Thanks all for reading this story of mine!_

_-Shadow Master Talon_


	4. Chapter 4

Neither of them dared to move, her for fear of him killing her, and him for fear of being discovered. He could feel her heart racing beneath him, as he waited for her to calm down. Slowly, ever so slowly her heart returned to it's normal pace. Altaïr gently removed his lips from hers then whispered softly into her ear, his breath teasing the flesh on her neck,

"I will kill you if you scream. I need information, do you understand?" she nodded slightly. "Good, what is this place?"

"The castle Linquist."

"Where?"

"We're in my family's manor on Crete ."

"WHAT!?" Altaïr voice went far louder then he's intended and his eyes grew wide for a moment, then he drew a suddering breath and slowly continued his interrogation, "How did you get me here so quickly?"

"You were drugged for most of the voyage." Altaïr gave her the most sadistic look of pure hatred he could muster. It seemed to cow her as she continued, "I- I thought that is we could-" A loud knock on the door drew both of them back to reality and someone in the hall hollered,

"Your pet is missing, I'm coming in." The door opened quickly and a man of some fifty years stood in the doorway, heavy breastplate held firmly to his chest. A head of coal black and silver hair was cropped on his skull. A tabard Altaïr didn't reconize right away fairly glowed from the breastplate. A bastard sword of cold steel hung casually at the man's waist. A look of pure ire was formed on his face and he seemed vaguely feral.

Before Altair could move the woman shoved forward and returned his earlier kiss with almost reckless abandon, Altaïr nearly choked on her tounge as he pushed away from her rapidly moving his feet towards the floor and releasing his grip on her wrists to allow his hands freedom to face the newest challange that entered the room. As he put his weight on his feet he was knocked back by the woman who tangled up merrily with him, she pushed him to the ground and this time she was on top in an almost identical position to the one they'ed just left. She winked at him as if to say, "play along" then pulled her lips from his as she glanced at the man who entered the room and spoke curtly,

"Honestly, this isn't the first time I've taken a man to my bed father." Altaïr could have sworn his heart stopped for the time it took the woman to slowly get to her feet leaving him flat on his back on the floor. Fathers were scary creatures when thier children were involved with anything, especially daughters with strange men in thier bedrooms, like Altaïr...

She tossed a disarming smile to him as she offered her free hand, the other one going to a robe located on the wall behind them. Altaïr accepted the hand and pulled himself to his feet trying to look, how would one put it... sheepish and embarressed. He hoped his face was right, or that he couldn't be seen. The man spoke in a pleasent voice to his daughter,

"So this is the assassin hm? Already laid claim to him I see, so then why don't you introduce your friend here Ashera?" She nodded then made the introductions between father and erm... consort as quickly and painlessly as was possible.

**"**This is Altaïr Ibn La-Ahad, my chosen _Telvaresh_ Altaïr this is my father, Regent Lord Alexander Linquist of the Royal House of Crete." Altaïr nodded slightly in acknowledgement. The regent lord smiled death at Altaïr, who paled visably, then inquired to him,

"Perhaps I should see if your good enough by my standards to be my daughters _Telvaresh_, would you be so kind as to follow me to the training room lad." There was no request in that voice, which promised a slow and agonzing fate. Altaïr had little choice but to move around the bed and Ashera to follow the regent lord down the hall to the training room.

The training room was large and had many objects shrewn about the floor, raised dais', pits, balance beam, walls, sloped floors, hell the entire thing was covered over in a slick sand. It was truely an arena of a training room, over 200 feet in radius you could have 20 men working in here without interfering with any other. Several slight ledges of varing heights and angles occupied the assrted walls of the arena, it was truely an architecual cornicopia of distrubing events. The outer most edges of the room held an assortment of weapons both real and sparring. Some 30 feet above those was a catwalk running the perimeter of the circular room, it looked like there were seats beyond the catwalk cut into the stone itself. The regent lord unclipped his sword from his belt and set it against the wall, pulling a training blade of roughly the same dimensions he turned and strode into the arena motioning for Altaïr to follow suit.

Glancing around there was a slight crowd gathered to watch, one of them wandered off, presumably to get more spectators. Altaïr sighed as he did as he was bid, removing his shortsword and throwing knives to pick up the training equivalents. He was surprised when he tested the weight of the training blade, it was almost identical to his sword. Most likely dull metal wrapped in hard bandage to prevent it from hurting... as much. He strode calmy into the ring after the regent lord and focus his full attention to the man's stance and demeanor. Calm, with no reconizable defense in place. He stood with his sword pointed down, it's tip barely tuching the sandy floor. His gaze was firmly on Altaïr doing the same thing, sizing up his opponent, making his battle descions with cold logic. Neither moved once they were both in the center of the floor, both waiting quietly for the other to open the duel.

Neither relized that more people were getting onto the catwalks above, and they had gathered a crowd. Neither was paying the least attention when two sisters walked into the room teasing each other about thier perferance of men.

_Sorry it took so long to update, I'll make it up with the duel and get that out soon! Thank you for reading this._

_-Shadow Master Talon_


	5. Chapter 5

The two men circled each other cautiously, neither moved to attack but both were waiting. Altaïr's blade was poised close to his body his knees bent as he continualy shifted his weight his free hand was limp in the event he needed it for something. His foe Ashera's father, the Regent Lord Alexader Linquist, stood calmly, his blade held in a comfortable loose one handed grip. The bastard sword, or hand a half sword, was fully five feet in legenth rather then a long swords three and a half. Nearly twice as long as Altaïr's swort sword, stronger, but no where near as fast. The circling continued for what felt like several minutes before the first move was made.

The regent lord lunged forward, his blade reaching out to carress his foes chest. Altaïr lept to the side to attack the man's opened left flank, as he himself lunged in for what would have been a killing blow the regent lord tossed his blade into the air and slamed a mighty backhand across Altaïr's face. Stumbling back Altaïr didn't see the lord catch his blade deftly and in his opposite hand. The lord took a five foot step closer to Altaïr and swung his mighty blade down at the younger man's skull, Altaïr raised his sword in a two handed grip to meet the downward strike. His arm went numb with the force of the blow and he let it knock him to the ground where he spun on his heels to tumble out of the way and get some distance between himself and his foe.

Alexander grined from ear to ear as the assassin retreated towards the edge of the arena, "this one was a smart lad" he mused to himself, "get back to reevalute your opponent and come up with a new strategy" Oh he was going to have fun this day.

Altaïr decided dodging was much better then blocking and considered what he should do next. He had neither the height nor the sheer strength of his foe, and so couldn't reach as far or strike as hard but he could out maneuver him. Glancing around the arena he found a likely spot some nine feet behind his opponenet and to the left, a nice large section of wall where he could back his foe into a corner and limit his swings. Nodding to himself Altaïr charged.

Predictably the regent lord slashed out horizontally at Altaïr's waist when he came close enough, the assassin deftly jumping over the blade in a graceful twist. As the assassin cleared the legnth of his blade the regent lord snapped it up again to strike while Altaïr was still in the air and unable to dodge. Registering the threat Altaïr twisted his body slightly and used his free hand to pushed his own weight off the flat of the regent lords sword. The force of the blow coupled with the force of Altaïr's push slammed the sword downward again and left Altaïr to land gracefully in a low crouch three feet from his intended target, the wall he had noted earlier.

The Regent Lord pressed his apparent advantage trying to push Altaïr closer to the wall. Altaïr yeilded half a foot then lept backwards some six feet straight up into the air and the needed two feet back, he pushed off the wall behind him as the regent lord lunged and slammed his sword into the wall. Altaïr landed directly behind the man and brught his own shortsword to the base of the man's neck. One word rang out clearly,

"Yield!" Grinning wickedly Alexander decided he ought to give up on this one. His response was perfectly calm,

"Excellent form boy, I think my daughter's choice of _Telvaresh_ is an good one indeed."

"What the hell is _Telvaresh?_" The man's grin turned mischievious.

"You should already know that my boy. After all you did share her bed did you not?"

"No comment." Altaïr moved quickly back to his actual weapons and reequiped them as the older man was explaining.

"_Telvaresh_ is an old egyptian word meaning dearly beloved."

"Beloved?"

"You are planning on marrying Ashera aren't you?" Altaïr's face bleached for a moment as he realized what was said, then he said the only thing that came to mind for his current situation."

"WHAT?!"

_Ok sorry about the delay, hope you folks are enjoying Altaïrs's plight so far please let me know what you think and toss all the ideas and critsm you want at me. : )_

_- Shadow Master Talon_


End file.
